Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [67]
Nina knew immediately that the facts didn't compute — why would a Manhattan company do business with a store in LA when there were plenty of franchises in New York City?
A cross-check of Prolix Security records produced a revelation, and a clear connection to terrorist activities.
In the last eighteen months, huge sums of money had been tunneled from Prolix's Security to several Banque Swiss accounts in Zurich, Switzerland. Other transactions involved the Iraqi government — though U.S. businesses were restricted from trade with Saddam Hussein except through the United Nations Oilfor-Food Program.
But Nina knew those weren't the real leads.
The important discovery involved the ownership of the firm. Though the company had been established in 1986, Prolix had just recently been acquired by a former insurance executive named Felix Tanner — the same name Jack's female informant Caitlin had mentioned during an interrogation about the Lynch brothers.
Putting aside her other tasks, Nina Myers concentrated on finding out everything she could about Felix Tanner.
* * *
9:18:54 A.M. EDT
The Last Celt
Griffin Lynch tramped on the gas. Tires shrieking, the Mercedes swung around the lumbering delivery van, then swerved in front of it. The Boar's Head meats truck skidded to a halt, the driver bellowing a curse at what looked like the typical New York asshole businessman — silver hair, well-dressed, and in a hurry. In seconds the black Mercedes was gone, zooming down Roosevelt Avenue under the shade of the elevated train tracks.
The day was already hot. With the window down, the clattering subway rolling overhead drowned out almost everything else. Cars double-parked along the busy avenue made vehicular progress slow. Griff clutched the steering wheel impatiently, even though the pub was only a few blocks away.
He was more than a little bit cheesed at Shamus. Bloody brilliant of the boy not to show at the shop, this morning of all mornings, thought Griff. With so much to do, so many loose ends to tie up and final decisions to be made, Shamus was behaving like a tool. Bad enough he'd been more interested in fast-money deals with the local swains than taking care of their real business. Now the boyo'd vanished, along with the pub sketch he'd been shagging. Griff had been calling Shamus repeatedly since eight-thirty, but no one at The Last Celt would answer the bloody phone. With zero hour less than half a day away, Griff had no choice but to get in the car himself and drive to the pub.
It was bloody reckless of Shamus to act so irresponsibly, but Griff wasn't all that surprised. He'd noticed changes in his brother over the past few months. At first Griff assumed it was Caitlin. Since the explosion that maimed Griff so badly, the joys of women were denied him, but he hadn't forgotten the power of the mating urge. Griff indulged his younger brother's need to get his hole now and then — but when he compared his brother's professional attitude in Somalia to his fuck-ups lately, he realized Shamus hadn't been the same since they'd set up shop in New York City.
It was the seductive lure of the fast-money American way that warped him, Griff knew. Shamus would rather remain in New York and exploit the opportunities at hand than go for a really big score and retire in a banana republic with a fat bank account. Not that his little brother had directly challenged Griffs plans. But it was obvious enough to Griff that Shamus wanted to stay.
The boy just didn't understand. Living in America was an impossible dream. It hadn't taken Frank Hensley very long to track them down. The fact that the FBI agent was as crooked as a turf accountant was a bit of luck. Griff had been able to make a deal with Hensley, but sooner or later another FBI agent — an honest one — or someone from the police department, the DEA, or CTU would find them and the bomb would explode in their faces.
Griff understood that there was no future for them anywhere in America or Europe. He and Shamus had already done too many things for the